Feel So Close
by Ninazadzia
Summary: "She'd devised a plan to push me away, to make me hate her, so that I wouldn't bother her. And it didn't work exactly like she'd wanted it to. Instead of pushing me away, I wanted more." Inspired by Calvin Harris' song, Feel So Close. Career centric, Clato. T for sex. Sweet Nothing and Shake it Out prequel.
1. Chapter One: Cato

**A/N: **Set during Cato, Clove, Glimmer and Marvel's Sophomore year. High School AU. Cato is on the football team, Clove is a nationally ranked runner, Marvel's a genius, and Glimmer's a hypersexual cheerleader.

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Cato~

Looking back, the tumultuous relationship that occurred between me and Clove was the result of happenstance.

It happened on a hot, sticky August day, the summer before my sophomore year. Coach Sanderson—my football coach—had us going through sprint drills for a solid hour. The guy wasn't giving us any breaks, and it was an hour of non-stop, "faster, faster, move, you bastards!" But I didn't give in. I'd trained the entire summer, and I'd die before I was put on the JV roster for the second year in a row. I wanted that Varsity letter more than anything, and I'd made damn sure over the summer that I'd earn it.

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Coach finally called.

I panted where I stood. To my left, Gloss Schlund breathed, "Christ, thank fucking God." He clapped me on the back. "Nice work, Ludwig."

I blushed internally, but I didn't let it show. I wasn't the little kid I was last year, and I wasn't going to be anybody's fanboy. Yeah, so what if I used to worship the ground Gloss walked on?

Now, _I _was going to be the golden boy. It was my turn.

So I shrugged off his compliment. Sanderson shouted out, "Take five," and I took that as a cue to jog to the water fountain behind the bleachers

This skinny, dark haired thing was already there. Just before she made it to the tap, I cut in front of her. I felt the smallest twinge bad, but my thirst overrode that.

"What the fuck?"

The water had barely touched my lips. _Ahh, shit. _She'd actually had the guts to say something.

I turned around. "Sorry," I said, not at all like I meant it. "But it's ninety degrees and I'm in full uniform. I think I get priority."

"Priority?" she scoffed. "I'm sorry, did you just run seven miles?"

I blinked, just to make sure that what I was seeing was right. It was the first time I had the chance to get a good like at her. Yeah, she was dripping sweat, and her face was a little red from the sun. But up close, I could see that she wasn't a complete twig—she had lean, long muscles. Freckles dotted her skin, and her long, dark hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail.

I'd only recently started screwing around, but the girls I'd been with were all the same—blonde, hourglass bombshells. This girl wasn't like any one them.

There's no way I can overemphasize this. Because even though she didn't fit my "type," in my opinion she was beyond gorgeous.

Still, I snorted. "You're one of those cross country bitches, aren't you?"

She glared at me. "I'm not just any cross county bitch, I'm third in the state. Now, fucking _move."_

Okay, so she was arrogant, too.

I ignored her, dipping my head down to the water fountain. Even after I'd satisfied my thirst, I kept my head down a minute longer, just to piss her off.

"Third in the state, really?" I asked, skeptical.

"Yeah. _Really." _She shoved me out of the way, a little stronger than I'd anticipated. "There were only fifteen articles written about me in the paper last year, if you feel the need to do your research."

Huh. As spiteful as she sounded, the newspaper articles were starting to ring a bell.

"You're the one with the scary German last name, aren't you?"

She crossed her arms, seething. "_Fuhrman," _she practically spat. "And you're one to talk about scary German last names, Ludwig."

"Oh, so you've heard of me?"

"Who hasn't? We're in the same grade—practically everyone's heard of your legendary douchebaggery."

Now it was my turn to seethe a little.

"Ooh, hit a nerve, didn't I?" she taunted.

"Clove," I said. Momentary surprise crossed her face. "Clove Fuhrman. That's your name, isn't it? I've heard of you too."

"Gee, I'm so flattered." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Marvel's told me about you." She tried to keep her face impassive, but it wasn't working.

"He's my neighbor. What's it to you?"

"Well, he's my best friend. And he'd always just talk about how much of a bitch you are." I smirked. "I guess now, I know firsthand how true that is."

Her face turned crimson red, and it wasn't from the sun.

"Hit a nerve, didn't I?" I imitated

She stormed off. "Asshole," she muttered.

I should've been at least a bit antagonized. Instead, all I could think of was, _she's giving me a great view of her ass right now._

I was used to swooning, suck-ups, and sluts. This was different. _She _was different. I knew what she was trying to do—she wanted to piss me off. She knew my MO the minute she saw me, and she devised a plan to push me away, to make me hate her, so that I wouldn't hit on her or bother her. And it didn't work exactly like she'd wanted it too. Instead of pushing me away, I wanted _more._

Yeah, she hit me like a train, alright. But I never would've guessed that _she _would become my epic love story.

XXX

**A/N: **For those of you that don't know me—hi! I'm so excited that you've taken the time to read the start of my newest plot bunny!

For those of you that are familiar with _Shake it Out _and _Sweet Nothing_, this fic is the prequel to those two multi-chaps. No need to read them if you haven't already; _Sweet Nothing_ is set during Cato, Clove, Glimmer and Marvel's Junior year, and _Shake it Out _is set during their senior year.

xx Nina


	2. Chapter Two: Glimmer

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Glimmer~

_ I said brrr, it's cold in here_

_ There must be some Mustangs in the atmosphere_

_ I said oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee, ice ice ice_

_ Oh-ee-oh-ee-oh-ee, ice ice ice_

"Stop, stop!"

I tried to suppress my cringing. _You're a fucking cheerleader, Glimmer, so you better fucking smile._ No one moved a muscle as Abby Mandel—our new cheer captain—walked around, stopping and surveying each of us. All the while, she kept shaking her head.

"No, no, no," she said, sighing. "We'll have to run through that again."

Unsurprisingly, Candice was the first one to snap. "You're kidding me, Abs. We've rehearsed that cheer, like, fifteen times today—"

"And we're going to keep rehearsing it, because it _still _sucks."

"Can you at least explain what we're doing _wrong?"_ I blurt out. My face turned bright red as I did; Abby Mandel was one terrifying bitch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know everyone on my squad was _vapid!_" She exclaimed. She sighed, bringing her hands to her forehead. "How many of you are underclassmen?" she barked, irritably.

About half of us raised our hands. That figure—grudgingly—included me.

"Figured as much," she groaned. She put her hand on her chin, looking us over. "You," she pointed at Erin, "you"—Jenn—"you"—me—"you"—Denise—"and you"—Erica—"are all underclassmen, am I right?"

We muttered incoherently in response.

"It's written all over you," she says, flipping her long, ginger ponytail behind her shoulder. "Here, look at me." She slouches her shoulders, crosses her arms, and crosses her legs. "You see this? _This _is what you look like. _This _is all I see."

"But it's kind of hard to cross your arms when you're, like, doing a high split," Jenn piped up.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Jennifer," she said.

I rolled my eyes, groaning under my breath. Much as I loved her, Jenn—my best friend of three years—was a complete _idiot._ She had no clue what she was getting herself into.

"Well, _Jennifer,"_ Abby spat, poking Jenn's sternum. "I don't give a fuck about how well you can tumble or high split. I see what you're like, outside of practice—you're fucking _boring._" She points to the rest of us underclassmen. "That goes for _all _of you." She walks back to the front of the group. I sneak a glance at Jenn, and—unsurprisingly—see a combination of confusion and hurt written all over her.

"Here's the reality, and the rest of the upperclassmen can vouch for me. Cheer is _much_ more than a sport. It's a _lifestyle._ It's about how you carry yourself, how your classmates look at you, how _boys_ look at you. The crowds don't give a damn about what your pyramids and Swedish falls look like; they want to know that they're looking at _the _finest that Madison high has to offer."

I wait for some of the other upperclassmen to speak up, to tell Abby, "Shut up, that's not what this is all about." But they're all silent. I can't tell if they agree with Abby, or if they're too terrified not to.

"If you want to stay on this squad," Abby shouts. "then you better start acting like a fucking cheerleader." She sighs, almost as if her sermon was awfully exhausting, and sneaks a glance at her watch. "Shit," she mutters, under her breath. She looks back up at us. "Alright, you're all dismissed. Go home."

I don't say a word to Jenn and Erin until we're well out of Abby's earshot.

"What the _hell_ was that?" I hiss at them, still keeping my voice down.

Erin shrugs. "Who knows? My sister's friends with her. Apparently, Abby, like, tries to manage a smart-popular schedule.

"Is that even possible?" Jenn asks.

"Um, _yeah._ Hello, that's, like, half of this year's senior class! I mean, it's really tough—they try to get good grades _and _do sports _and_ party. Sounds fucking challenging if you ask me."

"Yeah," Jenn agrees. "Partying is exhausting enough for me."

"Anyway," Erin continues, "she's probably just stressed about college apps or whatever. That and it's her senior year—we've never gone to nationals, and I bet she's _dying _to have us qualify."

"I didn't know getting to nationals was a popularity contest," I snorted.

"Pfft. When it comes to cheer, _everything _is a popularity contest." Erin turns to me. "Don't look so annoyed, Glim. You look the part."

_But I don't _feel _the part,_ I want to say.

It's true. People always seemed to look at me a certain way—like I was some supermodel or celebrity whatever—but I didn't even notice until three or four years ago. My friends were with the popular crowd, yeah, but my status didn't ever seem real to me.

Until this summer, that is. Erin's sister scored us invites to some parties, and that was just the start of it. I didn't know that a summer at home meant a summer of booze, booze, and more booze. And I still hadn't admitted to Jenn or Erin that, during one of my drunken hazes, I'd fucked Jenn's older brother in his mom's shoe closet.

The worst part? _That _was my first time.

I'd been flirty with guys before, yeah, and I'd done stuff with a decent amount of them; but I'd never let it escalate. I wanted sex to be _special,_ period.

_ Well. You kind of ruined that for yourself, Glimmer._

I mulled Abby's words over in my head. She wanted us to be the biggest, baddest, most popular bitches in town, yeah? If I'd had a sliver of respect left for myself, I know what I would've done; I would've handed my uniform in, along with a giant "fuck you."

But I didn't. And the reason why was, literally, right in front of me.

"When did Cato Ludwig get so hot?" I blurted out. He was walking across the parking lot, about fifty yards away from us, with some of his football friends.

"Oh, Denise gave me the low-down," Erin said, smiling. "Apparently, he worked-out _mega _hard this summer—he wants to be our starting linebacker. She got with him a few weeks ago."

"Wait, you mean they—"

"Went all the way? Um, _yeah."_

This was Denise we were talking about (aka notorious slore), but for some reason, former boy's-next-door Cato didn't strike me as someone who liked casual sex.

"Um, _yeah._" She whispered, almost as if it was taboo, "she even said that he was the _best _she's ever had."

"No way."

"Uh-huh."

"Exactly _how _many people has he slept with?"

"Well, according to the word on the street, it was mostly with Denise and Shawna, but . . ."

I stopped listening as she rattles on about a handful of girls. She'd had me at _the best she's ever had._

My lips curled up into a smile. Oh yeah, this would work.

XXX

**A/N: My perception of cheerleaders is probably 1000 percent flawed. **

**(Distance runner thru and thru, whuddup.)**

**Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. I hope you guys had a very good holiday!**

**Check back in two days for an update.**

**xx Nina**


	3. Chapter Three: Clove

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Clove~

"Finch Emerson?"

"Here."

"Katniss Everdeen?"

"Here."

"Clove Fuhrman?"

"Here."

"Eliza Falk?"

Ms. Ramirez, legendary bitch that she was, barks at anyone who doesn't talk loudly enough for her liking. So when Eliza (who's pretty much mute) mumbled a "here," Ms. Ramirez lost it.

"Louder, please! You'll never get anywhere in life if you're _timid!"_

"Here," Eliza said again, shrinking in her desk. My English teacher shot her a glare before continuing roll.

Yeah, we've all heard the stories about Madison High's crankiest teacher. Ms. Ramirez's testing policy was legendary; she'd read out test scores as she passed them out, the students with the lowest scores would have to write an essay about the nature of human productivity as punishment. She believes this "promotes accountability and gives her students an incentive to study. I _would _believe that her testing policy was a form of dictatorship, but since English is my easiest class I personally don't give a shit. Our first English AP isn't offered until Junior year, so I'm stuck in the honors class until then.

If anything, her policy works to my benefit. Everyone will know soon enough that I'm the class genius; my 100s will be announced on pretty much a weekly basis.

She keeps going with the roll.

"Brianna Johnston?"

"Here."

"Oliver Hayden?"

"Here."

I pick my cuticles, staring at my copy of_ Wuthering Heights._ God, did I _hate _that book. It wasn't a particularly difficult read, but the romance was so saccharine that I felt like vomiting.

Ms. Ramirez reads a few more names. "Cato Ludwig?"

"Here."

_Oh, damnit, _I think. _Not him._

What's worse is that the voice comes from two seats away from me. The only buffer between us is Oliver, who pretty much keeps his only speaks when spoken to and is one of those waste-of-space people.

I unintentionally sneak a glance a Cato, and find his eyes trained on me. I sharply turn away, groaning under my breath.

He notices, unfortunately. He leans across Oliver's desk. "Happy to see me, Fuhrman?" he whispers.

"I'm sorry, shouldn't you be in the replacement class?" I snap.

He laughs under his breath. He opens his mouth to say something, but Ms. Ramirez gives him a glare. "Quiet, Ludwig!" she yells.

Ms. Ramirez then spends the next 40 minutes going through the class rules and her homework policy. She ends with a gigantic rant about _her _education, and how she's preparing us for the real world with the amount of work that she gives us. While she drones on, all I do is sit in my seat and boil, because I _know_ that Cato Ludwig is shooting daggers at me.

Cato became a _legendary _jerk over the summer. I don't run in his friend group at all (not that I'm really part of _any _friend group), but I've hear that he was nailed a few times for drinking and drugs. He also has a habit of just about fucking every girl he can get his grimy hands on. That stuff isn't too atypical; what makes him _really _disgusting is that he talks about those girls like they're objects, and he pretty much makes them out to be complete sluts once he's down with them.

So, yeah, interacting with him during pre-season was just about the most unpleasant thing imaginable. Not that interacting with me was probably any better for him, but at least I do more with my time than fuck around and light up.

But what _really _pisses me off is that we're in the same fucking class. The two of us are _not _on the same academic platform at _all_. Yeah, so maybe my easiest class is hardest class, but still—the fact that we sit two seats away from each other makes me want to vomit.

The bell rings, and I don't waste any time getting to the door. Cato must be thinking along the same lines as I am, because he gets there before I do.

He stands in front of me, blocking my only escape path.

"_Move,"_ I snap, taking a step to the left. He mimics me.

"What's the hurry, Fuhrman?"

"Getting away from you, that's what."

"Someone's happy to see me."

_"Enthralled,"_ I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Enthralled, huh?"

"Yeah, dumbass. Look it up in the fucking dictionary if you have to."

He snorts. "I don't know what I did to piss you off so badly, but you need to calm the fuck down. No one likes a cocky bitch."

"You're just a genuine asshole, aren't you?"

"I'm a genuine asshole that's in your English class."

I scoff, finally pushing past him.

"Fuck you," I call over my shoulder.

_This is going to be a long year._

XXX

**A/N: 12 reviews for the last two chapters? You guys fucking rock.**

**(Pssssst I just published a Clato lemon so go check that out if you want :D)**

**Thanks a ton for reading! I hope you guys had an awesome New Year.**

**xx Nina**


	4. Chapter Four: Marvel

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Marvel~

"Hey! I don't know you. Why don't I know you?"

I stop, staring at the girl touching my arm. My first impression of her is purely superficial, which is what typically happens when you meet someone for the first time—_especially_ if she's a member of the opposite sex.

I won't understate her looks. She's completely captivating, in between her beautiful eyes and smile. I'm sure that she's every guy's wet dream. And for some reason, she's talking to me.

"Well, we should probably fix that," I say, hoping I sound smooth. I extend my hand. "Marvel Quaid."

"Well, aren't you polite." She gives me a smile, biting her lip slightly. "Glimmer Rambin." She shakes my hand, and it lingers for a second, interlocking with my fingers.

There's something undeniably sexual about the look she's giving me. Normally, I'd peg this as weird behavior. But given where we were (a high school party) and given her probable state of mind (shitfaced), I brushed off her bravado. For all I knew, her confidence was probably the result of the beer bottle she clutched in her hand.

"Now, why haven't we met before?" I ask. "Are you new to Madison?"

"I moved the summer before freshman year," she explains. "Y'know, better school system and all."

"Nice. Where'd you move from?"

"California."

"Ouch. I'm sorry."

She laughs, and it sounds like a ringing bell. "Cali is just a _little _too laid-back for me. Life here is paced _much _faster."

"Oh, I can relate," I reply. I look to her bottle, which is empty. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah, actually. That's sweet of you."

I give her a small wink, and then traverse the room. My heart hammers.

_Think, Mavel, think. Use that 4.0-and-hopefully-Ivy-bound brain of yours—surely you can find a way to make her like you._

I can thank my childhood best friend for my newfound friend group; Cato had just become a starting linebacker for our school's football team. (We won state last year, so yeah, making the varsity lineup was kind of a big deal.) We've been friends since fourth grade, so we're kind of a packaged deal—he takes me to all of his keg parties, and I always invite him to the get-togethers I'll (sometimes) have with my debate friends. (He declines, infallibly.)

So I have this newfound connection with our school's golden clique—big deal. I'm the token smart kid, for all they care. By their standards, I'm nice enough as a person, and since I'm one of the oldest kids in our grade, I'm the only one who knows how to drive (even though it's still highly illegal, since I've only just turned sixteen). So yeah, they all like me and accept me as I am. Hurrah.

But flirting with one of these demigods? That's new. To be perfectly honest, my romantic experience as a whole isn't very extensive. The closest thing I've ever even come to a real relationship was having an on-and-off fling with Finch Emerson. I've come to discover that she's a bit too quick-witted, even for me, and that our differing political views (understandably, since we're both master debaters) pose a major issue in our romance.

Besides, Finch is a six, _maybe_ a seven at best. This Glimmer girl is upwards of a nine. I'd go so far as to say that she's one of, if not _the _most attractive girls in my grade.

So, yeah. The flirtation is a little beyond me.

Nevertheless, I try to steel up some courage. _Play it cool. Just bring her a goddamn beer bottle. Give her a ride home, get her number, and see where it goes._

I pause, looking around. I'm in a room full of absolute _meat-heads._

_Okay, but just don't forget to be realistic. It's not like you're a jock or anything._

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I hope you like Bud Light, because that's the only thing they have here," I say, handing her a bottle.

She pops it open, taking a sip. "God. It tastes like piss in a can," she sputters. "The stuff I'm used to drinking is _way _better than this." She looks at me, thoughtfully. "Have you ever tried German beer?"

My heart leapt. "Yeah, actually. I went to Germany this summer."

And so began an animated conversation about the difference between German beers and domestic ones, light brews and dark brews, the effects of hard liquor versus the effects of beers, etcetera. The girl knew her alcohol incredibly well, which would've been impressive if it wasn't for the fact that she was a sophomore in high school.

"God, I sound like an alcoholic, don't I?" she says after a pause, laughing. "My dad owns a beer garden. I kind of grew up around it."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. He thinks brewing is an art. I've been sipping beer since I was, gee, seven?" She shrugs. "But back then it was all just sips, so whatever."

"My parents would always pour me a little something at the dinner table."

She raises a brow. "Really?"

"Really. My dad's from Switzerland, drinking is kind of just part of the culture. It's not like it is here—he was just raised around it, you know?"

"Hmm. So you've been raised around alcohol too, huh? But you haven't had anything tonight," she commented.

I laugh. "That's because I'm the designated driver."

"I thought you said you were a sophomore."

"Well, fine, the _illegal _designated driver. I just got my permit."

She laughs. "Right, right, I getchya." She looks at her phone. "Shit, it's one thirty already. I missed curfew." She looks up at me. "Can you—"

"Give you a ride home? I was just about to offer."

She smiles. "I like you, Quaid."

"Likewise. I'd say this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

She leans in, and she plants a kiss on my cheek. I know why she does it—it's because of the alcohol. It's because I've given her a drink, I've just offered her a ride home, and she's a flirt. Any dumbass can see that from ten miles away.

But that doesn't stop my heart from just about pounding out of my chest.

"_Very_ beautiful," she drawls.

XXX

**A/N: I debated making Glimmer and Marvel childhood besties, but I figured this was more appropriate, given their relationship in **_**Sweet Nothing **_**and **_**Shake it Out**_**.**

**Sorry for the delay! I had this ready two days ago, but FF was being a bitch.**

**I'm so blessed to have such awesome readers and reviewers—you guys fucking rock. Thank you xx**

**Nina**


	5. Chapter Five: Clove

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Clove~

"_What,"_ Katniss pants, "the _fucking _hell was that, Fuhrman?"

"You don't have a death wish, do you?" Johanna snaps. The three of us stalk off the track. I reset my watch, panting as I check the time for that rep.

2:38 half mile. Casual.

"What, you guys aren't up for 5:16 pace?" I taunt. "Because if you're not, I think you two should stop fucking tailgating me."

"Did you _not_ hear Coach A?" Katniss seethed. "This is a _pacing _workout! We're supposed to hit 2:50 for these repeats—"

"And we have _six of them, _remember?" Johanna's says through grit teeth. "So don't come crying to us when you die on the last one."

I laugh. "I'm sorry, but what place you did you come in state last year- 45th?" I turn to Katniss. "69th? You two need to fucking accept that I'm just on a different athletic platform. Because _that _rep," I pause, taking a long gulp from my water bottle, "was easy as fuck."

"Okay, you know what?" Johanna says as she steps forward, getting in my face. This kind of stuff has been happening a lot lately. Normally, Katniss pulls her aside, and says something along the lines of, "lay off, it's not worth it," but this time, she simply stands there with her arms crossed.

Johanna looks me dead in the eye. "Yeah, you're a good runner, but nobody gives a shit. You're an arrogant bitch and everyone _hates_ you."

My blood boils beneath my skin, but I resist the urge to let any hurt flash across my face. "Ooh, jealous much?" I taunt. I toss my bottle to the ground. "Just face the facts, Mason. You'll never be half the distance runner I am. You should stick to pole vaulting."

"True," Katniss interjects, her voice icy. "I mean, she's a much better jumper than you'll ever be. It's too bad that you're only really good at one event."

I narrow my eyes on Katniss. She doesn't talk much (especially not since her dad recently died), and when she does, it's fucking unwarranted.

"Here's a piece of advice for you, Everdeen," I say. "If you lost the beer belly, you could _actually _be fast. I'd keep that in mind the next time you try to drink your daddy issues away."

Oh, does that have _exactly _the effect I want it to.

She stands there, rooted in the spot, her entire body vibrating in fury. It's Johanna that starts hollering at me- "you bitch, you _fucking bitch!"_ -while Everdeen glares at me, seething. I snicker and step back on the line. I start my watch for the next rep, not bothering to wait for them.

XXX

"Mom, _where are you?"_ I demand.

"Sweetie, hi, I'm on call today—"

"Of course you are," I mutter.

"—I don't know when I'll be home. You can get a ride from one of the girls, right?"

_No, _I internally snap. _They all hate me._ "I'll fucking walk."

I hear the start of her monologue—"don't use that kind of language, young lady"—as I hang up. I sigh, putting my head in my hands.

_Mom's too busy to give her one kid the time of day. Typical._

So, I commit to walking home. I already have my headphones plugged in and my song picked out, when I see Marvel Quaid.

"Quaid!"

He stops short at the sound of his name.

"I need to talk to you."

"Okay, sure." He pauses, and then motions towards his Bentley. "Can I offer you a ride home?"

"Well, you owe me, so _yeah." _I traverse the parking lot, making my way to Marvel's car. He's one of the oldest kids in our grade, which makes him one of the first to have his permit. Even though it's highly illegal, at sixteen, to drive without a parent/guardian in the front seat, his parents (like mine) are constantly on-call or at work. So, Marvel has his own car, and his rents look the other way whenever he's on the roads.

"Sorry—_what?"_ he asks. "What d'you mean, 'I owe you?'"

I sit in the passenger seat and slam the door behind me. Marvel raises a brow, expectantly. I don't give him an answer.

He shrugs, and then closes the door behind him. He starts the car, reverses out of the lot, and sets out to Berkley Street.

A few minutes go by before we say anything.

"Don't fucking talk shit about me," I say.

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting your _best friend._" I glance at him from the corner of my eye. "If you're going to call me a bitch, say it to my fucking face."

"Wait, are you talking about Cato?"

"You mean the linebacking _scum bag?_ Yeah, him."

Marvel rolls his eyes. "Well, he has the tendency to exaggerate. Why were talking to him in the first place?"

"Don't change the subject, Marvel—"

"I just never thought that you two would cross paths—"

"Oh, and if you did, you wouldn't have whined about how much of a _bitch_ I am?" I throw my hands up. "God, you're such a brat! Our parents are best friends, you're going to have to deal with me whether you want to or not!"

"Okay, fine," he snaps. "Yeah, I told him that I thought were a bitch . . . in, like, the _sixth grade,_" Marvel sighs. "Remember? Back when you told everyone that I had a crush on Cashmere Schlund?"

I narrow my eyes, skeptically. "I don't believe you."

He shrugs. "Well, that's your problem." He stops the car, just in between my house and his. "What's it matter what I think about you, anyway? It's not like we're friends."

I glare at him. "Fuck you."

I storm out of the car, and back to my empty house.

XXX

**A/N: Next chappie we go back to Cato and Clove. Sosososo excited for that.**

**I have this fic entirely outlined, so I know exactly where it's going from here on out. This should wind up having around 13 chapters in total, if I stick to that outline.**

**Thanks so much for reading! Please leave me a review letting me know what you would next like to see me write about :D**

**xx Nina**


	6. Chapter Six: Cato

_Feel So Close_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

**~Cato~**

"Ludwig!"

I snap at the sound of my name. _Oh, perfect, _I think, groaning to myself. _She's talking to me._

"Hmm?"

"Stop daydreaming about Ms. Sherman, and pay _attention._ You'll be tested on this material next week."

Denise Sherman—the girl I've been eye-fucking for the last twenty minutes—giggles. She looks away from me and back to her notes.

I exhale, cracking my back and knuckles. I can feel Clove Fuhrman's gaze burning into the side of my skull.

_Perfect._

"Sure thing, Ms. Ramirez," I say, smoothly. She scowls, but returns back to her blackboard.

"Now, assuming you all want to do well in my class, you all finished Jane Eyre last night." She writes _The Nature of Romance_ on the board and underlines it. She turns around. "Would anyone care to explain this—" she taps the board, "as it relates to Jane Eyre?" She pauses. No one answers.

I'm the one that makes the mistake of looking down.

"Ludwig!" She calls. "Why don't you start us off?"

I snort, but internally panic. Yeah, I actually read the book, because yeah, I genuinely enjoy English. But I can't make it seem like I do. "I think it's highly unrealistic, if you ask me. Rochester's successful as hell, and he has his hot Jamaican wife. I'm sorry, but he wouldn't go for some ugly governess."

"You're kidding me," I hear Clove say. She means to say it under her breath, but it comes out a little too loudly.

Ms. Ramirez raises a brow. "Would you care to maybe _raise your hand _instead of calling out, Clove?"

She rolls her eyes but does so. Ms. Ramirez nods. Clove turns to me.

"Saying something like that just goes to show how you _completely _missed the point of the book," she snaps.

"Really?" I say, sarcastically.

"Yeah, really. Rochester doesn't need to be in love with Jane's looks. He's in love with her morality and her dignity. That's what makes the love story as strong as it is." Her voice rises as she talks, and she pauses just long enough for me to interject.

"Well, you need to find someone physically attractive to have a successful relationship with them," I counter. "And the author says, like, a million times that Jane isn't the 'prettiest flower,' or some crap like that."

"And she says that Rochester is unattractive, too!"

"Yeah, but that's okay." She looks at me, slightly confused. "The girl always has to be better looking than the guy. It's okay for an ugly guy to date to date a hot girl, but the other way around just doesn't work."

_"What?"_ Clove's face turns bright red. "That's completely sexist!"

"And true."

Finch Emerson pipes up from across the room. "You can't prove that men are superior to women, Cato."

"Sure I can—"

"Give it a try. But just so you know, it was the topic of the debate tournament I was at last week," she says, smoothly, "and after supporting gender equality for a good hour, I took home first place."

The entire room reverberates with "oohs." Finch throws a smirk at Clove, and then smiles, crossing her arms and throwing a glance in my direction.

Well, fuck Finch Emerson. She's second in the state for debate. Even I know better than to fight her.

Ms. Ramirez clears her throat. "As Clove put it, yes, there is more to the relationship in _Jane Eyre _than physical attraction. But, Cato brings up a good point; Charlotte Bronte does talk about their respective appearances quite a bit. She does so to illustrate that attraction is comprised of more than sexuality—Mr. Rochester doesn't need to be attracted to Jane's looks, only her personality. Which becomes evident, as the story goes on." She turns to her desk, and picks up a stack of papers. "Now, about your test next week . . ."

She hands out some packets and goes on about what terms we'll be tested on, which characters we'll need to know, what book we'll be starting next, etcetera. All the while, I mentally kick myself.

_You're trying to be Mr. Madison High School, Cato. Not some sexist asshole._

I don't actually believe half of the shit that came out of my mouth. Of course I don't think the only thing that matters about a girl is her appearance—I was just saying it to look cool. Obviously it didn't work. Denise won't even look at me now; she just stares at her notebook, a clear frown plastered across her face.

Oh, fuck. That was such a stupid thing to say, especially since I was in the same room as one of my fuck buddies.

The bell rings. I don't waste any time—I run forward, and reach out. "Hey Denise," I say, trying to grab her arm.

She swats it away. "Just leave me alone, Cato."

She practically runs down the hallway, hugging her books to her chest. I feel my chest start to swell up. Unable to bear it, I instinctively kick the locker next to me. _God damnit. Why the fuck are you so stupid?_ I kick it again. _There goes two months of great sex._

My outburst only lasts a minute. I pant, and recompose myself. As I reach down to pick up my things, I stop cold.

Clove Fuhrman is staring at me.

"Fuck off," I spit.

"Let me guess—you fucked her, and then you ruined her reputation? She found out you were a sexist jerk? I'm guessing the latter."

"You hate me," I say, my face bright red. "So why do you care?"

"Because I _will _always take delight in finding ways to make you miserable." She leans as she says it, and breathes those words right against my lips. In between the glint in her eye, and the smile on my face, she looks completely vicious. Insane. Evil.

It strikes me that she's all of those things. It also strikes me that, in that moment, I feel a pulse of adrenaline rush through me. My face burns, and I want to punch her, I want to make her hurt—oh God, would I just _love _to give her hell . . . but not half as much as I want to fuck her.

She's making me hate her. And for some twisted reason, that makes me want her even more.

Fuck her. Fuck her and her headstrong personality, her outspokenness, her brains, her looks, her athleticism, _everything. _Fuck it. Fuck the fact that I find her so sickeningly attractive, no matter how much she gets under my skin.

"So I'm the jerk, huh?" I say. I laugh, darkly. "Unlike you, I actually _have _a life. You'll never be anything more than a loser."

" 'A life?'" she mocks, putting it in air quotes. "You call getting wasted and screwing around a _life?_ We both know who the real loser is, Cato."

She turns on her heel. _No, _I think as she walks away, _I'm not giving her that satisfaction._

"At least I do more with my time than study!" I holler after her.

"Let me know the next time you run ten miles," she retorts.

She keeps walking away. "Yeah, well I do a _real sport!"_ I add.

She stops cold. She turns around. "What did you say?" she asks.

God. If looks could kill.

Regardless of the glare she's giving me, I internally smile. _Yes. _Her sport—running—is her defense mechanism. It's something she finds self-worth in. And I just attacked it.

Perfect.

"What, you think that's offensive? _'Oh, Cato, I'm not just any cross country bitch, I'm third in the state!'"_ I mock. "Please. Anyone could do what you do. Running is what people do to get prepared for _real _sports."

She does nothing but seethe for a few minutes. And then, she wags a finger at me.

"You think you could do what I do, huh? You think it's so easy?" She walks up to me. She grabs me by my shirt collar, and leans in, her nose all of an inch from mine. "_Prove it. _Meet me at the reservation, after practice. If you don't show up, that makes you a fucking coward who's afraid to lose to a girl."

I stare at her, my mouth agape. Before I can say anything, she's turned around and walked away, for good this time.

**A/N: Huge apologies for how delayed this chapter is. I've had exams all of this week and last week, and I got sucked into some original fiction/Divergent FF. But I'm happy to say that I'm back on track with this fic! **

**We'll see the reservation-race-showdown in the next chappie :D**

**Here's a cyber!cookie.**

**xx Nina**


	7. Chapter Seven: Glimmer

_**Feel So Close**_

By Ninazadzia

_I feel so close to you right now_

_It's a force field_

_I wear my heart upon my sleeve, like a big deal_

_Your love pours down on me, surrounds me like a waterfall_

_And there's no stopping us right now_

_I feel so close to you right now_

-Feel So Close, **Calvin Harris**

~Glimmer~

"I thought you said that Cato Ludwig would be here."

I'm clutching the beer bottle _much _harder than I should. Jenn is too busy applying lip gloss to pay any attention.

"Hey," I say, snapping my fingers in her face. "Jennifer. Cato Ludwig. Where is he?"

"Huh?" she looks up from her mirror, mildly, before tossing her dirty blonde curls over her shoulder. "Oh, I don't know. Brutus told me he'd be here. Why, you haven't seen him?"

"_No._" I groan. I check my phone for the millionth time. I'd told Erin to make the rounds, and asked her to see if Cato was anywhere around. We were at the Schlunds' house. Cashmere and Erin are ex-childhood friends, so nobody knows their mansion like Erin does. I still haven't heard from her, which means one of two things—she's lost her phone, or she's flirting with some guy and has completely forgotten about me. (Knowing Erin, it was probably the latter.)

"God, this party _sucks,"_ I mutter. I take another sip, and then decide to down the rest of my cup. Once I've had the last drop, I walk over to the pong table, and grab myself two more. Out of courtesy, I hand one to Jenn.

"Here you go," I say.

She looks up from her mirror. "Jesus, Glim, I'm good for now." She holds up her _Blue Moon_. "I'm still nursing this one."

I shrug. "Suit yourself." I pop openone bottle, and take a seat next to her on the Schlunds' living room couch. _Hmmm, _I think. I run my fingers through the material. _Crushed velvet. _I haven't lived with my mother in years, but when I did, I became acquainted with every fabric and texture known to man. She works in the fashion industry. I don't know if she does anymore, since I haven't seen her since I left California.

A sofa like this must've cost Gloss' parents a fortune.

"Hey," Jenn says, brushing my arm, "You're acting all weird and, like, awkward. Loosen up. What does it matter if you can't get with Cato? There are _plenty _of hot guys here."

I sigh. I'm about to tell her, "You know what, you're right," when a certain blonde figure catches the corner of my eye.

_"Ludwig!"_

_ "Blowing off that cross country showdown, eh?"_

And like that, I break into a wide smile.

_Perfect. _

My past interactions with Cato Ludwig were very limited. In spite of that, I'm using what little I know about him from experience, and combining it with the information I've gathered in the last few weeks, to form the _perfect _plan of attack. So far, here's what I've got:

He's screwed three different girls in my grade. Denise Sherman is his most recent, and she's also the one that I got the most information from. "He's a fan of oral, dirty talk, and that male-dominance bullshit," she told me. She also warned me to "be careful, because he's a sexist asshole." (Rumor is that they aren't speaking anymore.) And then there's Shauna Erikson, his summer fling. I don't know much about her, other than that she's an exotic looking exchange student (Icelandic, apparently), who models part-time for IMG. And third and finally is Gia Giordano. She's interesting, because she's on an even higher social platform than Jenn, Erin and I are. She fits the stereotype of a Jersey Guidette (which is funny because Madison isn't anything like the shore), and she's something of a party animal. She was nailed for drugs a few times this summer . . . and, allegedly, her and Cato had a thing for getting it on while high.

So, the general consensus? He's bad news. Completely and totally.

But, the silver lining? Shauna and Gia are D cups, and Denise is has double D's. Shauna is a platinum blonde, and Denise and Gia are buttery blondes. Denise is tan (in a surfer-girl kind of way), Shauna is tan (obviously from a bottle, the girl is fucking Icelandic), and Gia is tan (as Guidettes typically are).

Well, guess what I have? Double D's. Buttery blonde hair. Tan skin. (From a bottle, but clearly, Cato doesn't mind that.)

I've explained this to Jenn and Erin. Jenn thinks it's genius, but Erin is a little more skeptical. "Shouldn't you be going off of more than just how you look, Glim?" she told me.

I pull myself back into the present. I look over to Cato, who's with Gloss and Brutus. I stand up, straighten my back, and comb a hand through my hair.

_Well, Erin. My looks are the one thing I have going for me._

I start to strut. I hold my head high, and give a small. I don't look at him, not at first, because I know exactly how I need to play this. Calm. Cool. Collected.

No, he can't think that I'm _trying _to seduce him. He needs to think that it's something he feels _naturally._

In a matter of seconds, I'm all of a few feet away. My shoulder bumps against his—exactly like I'd planned it to.

"Oh, god," I say, stopping. I laugh, and brush my hand against his arm. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

I keep my gaze low for a second, before pointing it up. My eyes meet his, just as planned. He stops talking to his friends, and just stares for a second.

_Yes._

"Don't worry about it, babe," he says. It's amazing how smooth he sounds, considering how clearly surprised he is.

Gloss and Brutus start to give him a hard time—"Well, if it isn't the cheerleader." "Looking good, Glim—"Aaron pushes them both. "Fuck off, guys," he says, stepping away. "Sorry about them. They're both assholes."

"I don't know you," I say. I'd tested the same line out on Marvel Quaid a few weeks back, and it had worked like a charm. "Why don't I know you?"

"You're Glimmer, right?" he says.

"Yeah, I am." I eye him for a second, and then go, "What about you, babe? You've gotta name too, right?"

He laughs. "Cato," he says. He takes an _unmistakable _step forward. _Yes, yes, hell yes._ "Cato Ludwig."

"Oh, hell—are you the guy that was supposed to race that stupid cross country chick today?" I ask, laughing. I playfully shove him, as if we've been friends for years. "Damn. Blowing it off, huh? You're such a badass."

"Yeah, well. I'm not afraid of racing a girl. I'd just rather be here_,"_ he says. "I mean, y'know—great party. Good friends." He leans forward, and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. "Beautiful girls," he says, smirking.

And, like that, my heart just about leaps out of my chest.

I don't care if he's bad news. He's _mine._

XXX

**A/N: Okay, so I lied—Glimmer and Cato had to interact at some point, right? :P The race showdown **_**will**_** happen, but just not in the chapter. That's what you guys will see next time.**

**Hope you all enjoyed! Lemme know what you thought.**

**xx Nina**


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